The Heart of a Warrior
by sorka robinton
Summary: -by the way, im reediting so much, so (my four reviewees) please check it out its differnt- this is my own fairy tale, about a girl who must grow up extremely quick, and her companion and protector as they fight to regain their lives and save the city fro
1. Bloodshed (year 346 of the reign of Ki...

heys...this is my own strange tale, about a young girl coming of age in a tempestuous kingdom, with her one companion to help her survive long enough to complete her revenge and secure peace in the land.   
  
besides, on some of my other stories, someone wanted violence. so here is a little bit. there will be more in the end. _hellows_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~`  
  
They ran until they had no more breath; ducking behind the warehouse, they managed to choke back the dust their hasty arrival had disrupted. Ara grasped the hilt of her small knife painfully tight, for her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she was afraid it might dislodge the silver from her hand.   
  
She sighed, ribs constricting, blinking back the tears that threatened to pour from her very soul.   
  
_"Ara!" her mother's voice echoed in her ears. "If you're quick," the very young woman teased, "we may be able to catch a glimpse of your father in the banquet before we must wash dishes." Wiping her hands on her apron, the woman held out her hand to the seven year old.   
  
Smiling brightly, Ara had followed Mama through the doorway and behind an ornately embroidered curtain. "See the man sitting there?" she whispered. "Next to the ruling Priest-Lord, his half-brother, the one in the beaded robe? He's the one next to the priest, that's your father. He's a Lord, which is why you have a real name, Aralien, rather than the servant's. The honorific 'n' is an obvious mark." Tweaking the girl's nose, the mother smiled to herself.   
  
Ara said her name to herself, over in her head. "Why is he up there?"   
  
"Because he is the brother, or at least half of his blood is, of the Lord!" Mama emphasized.   
  
"Why is he my...father?" The words set strangely in Ara's mouth; she had never known about her birth father until today. Examining the man with a curious look, her green eyes took in his light brown hair, carefully groomed beard, and immaculate clothing. As she recognized the cruel set of his eyebrows, the clenched, hateful jaw, she also asked, "Why does he look unhappy?"   
  
Mama's face fell a little. "Because he's not the ruler." Ara's little brow furrowed, but the woman would explain no more. "We must return to our duties."   
  
"Ara," her mother began. "Did I tell you about the time while I was still carrying you in my belly?"   
  
"No, Mama." Ara clung to her mother's hand, hoping for a good tale.   
  
"I went to see a fortune teller, and the gipcy lady laid her bejeweled hand on my belly, and she told me you were to be a warrior maiden."   
  
Ara's eyes grew large and round. "Really?" If that were true, she told herself, then it was good that she snuck off to watch the young boys practice swordplay. "A warrior maid? A real one?"   
  
Her mother nodded, smiling at the small child. "She was a wizened old woman, her hand more like a dried leaf than a palm. But she looked me in the eye, and told me a strange prophesy...would you like to hear it?" Ara nodded. "She told me that the Shadow Warrior and the Golden would rise against a dark evil."   
  
And they tripped back to the kitchens, swinging hands and trotting softly on the grass, when a great roar came from the banquet hall. Two figures darted from the hall, but Mama dragged her back into the shadows as hardened mercenaries stampeded around the corner of the building. "Be quiet, Ara," she warned, but the bushes were small and the woman's shoulders and back stood clear out of the hedge.   
  
A large hand dragged Mama out of the leafy sanctionary, it's chainmailed owner chuckling deeply. "Lirs," he grinned, showing his maliciously gleaming teeth. "It's been a while since I have seen you last." And the man raised his head out of the shadows to reveal himself as the man on the dais, the brother of the ruling Lord. He ran bloody fingers over his stained tunic, the dark red-black patches soaked through to his skin.   
  
"Perisen." Mama's one word cut a scathing patch through the air, filled with cries of servants and guests alike.   
  
"Oh, Lirs," he gloated. "It's all fixed now. They'll all be dead, maids, guards, nobles, sons, daughters, brothers...half-brothers..." He paused. "Well, Lirs, they were supposed to kill you too, but..." His hands snaked around Mama's waist. "But, you were too good to be a kitchen drudge, my beauty...be my woman, my Lady. A mother to my heirs."   
  
A bloodcurdling cry came from the kitchen, and the crimson life-bearing liquid spattered across the lighted window. The maid's body slammed against the window, her eyes wide and the light dimming slowly from the frightened orbs. Her face, bloodied on one side of the head, slid slowly down the glass, leaving its gory trail.   
  
"Cera?" Mama whispered. Her green eyes wide, she stared from the window to Perisen. "I...I..." He grasped her wrists so tightly that a small gasp came from her mouth.   
  
"What do you say, Lirs?"   
  
Another body flew at the window, that of the small girl that Ara sometimes played with during her free time. The child wailed as her head hit the stone sill, and the shadow of a mercenary raised it's sword. A strangled gasp accompanied its decent, and the unholy sound of a knife through flesh. "No!" Mama shrieked, tearing at Perisen's hands with clawed fingers. "You...murderer!"   
  
So the man, seething with frustration, clasped Mama's neck in his hands and smoothly cracked her fragile spine. Letting the body drop to the ground, he stared at it for a moment before shaking his head ruefully. "Now, where is that dratted child of hers..." Walking away, the man drew his sword and joined his soldiers in their killing.   
  
Ara ran.   
  
Her small legs, frail and thin for her age because of the hardships of a servant, took her nearly to the edge of the estate before an arm grabbed her out of the air and into an old shed. Before she could scream, a hand swiftly covered her mouth. "Don't scream," he warned.   
  
As she turned around, her eyes met the kind brown ones of the Priest-Lord, his beaded robe awry from his quick flight from the doomed banquet. "Ara, is it?" She nodded, catching her breath.   
  
"Child," the man began, his gentle voice quiet and regretful. "I am destined to die already, for my brother will not rest until he has my life. But you will escape, and live, and remember..."   
  
"I am just a servant, my Lord," she said shrilly, but the man shook his head decisively.   
  
"It is no matter." The man smiled, and Ara, against her will, felt his kindness permeate through her anguished heart. It warmed the air around her, and even the air outside, heavy with blood and fear, seemed to press lighter on her small frame.   
  
His son rose next to his father, a young boy of twelve, who had taught Ara how to skip small pebbles across the pond. "Father..."   
  
"No, my son. You must go, too. Together, perhaps all will be well." Turning back to Ara, he patted her head. "Child, do not fear. Cullen will take good care of you, you know that right?" She nodded, remembering the afternoons she had snuck away to hear the boy, to watch the forbidden art of swordsmanship that she so longed to master. The Lord shoved a small dagger into her hand, and her tiny fingers closed unwillingly on the jeweled hilt.   
  
"My son, one thing." Pulling a gold band from his left fourth finger, he handed it to the boy before pulling a long chain out of his robe. Touching the hanging ring, he sighed. "This was your mother's wedding band, and this is mine. The small emerald and sapphire ring was your baby sister's, though she never wore it before she died, only a few hours after birth, along with her mother. Cullen was only two," he told Ara, whose eyes were wide, "so he never knew her." And finally pulling the heavy gold signet ring off his first finger, he added it to the long chain. "To remember who you are," he said, hands shaking slightly as he placed the gold strand around Cullen's neck, tucking the bright metal into his plain brown tunic.   
  
Cullen himself looked like he was falling apart. "Now, before it is too late." Sketching a blessing over his forehead, the Lord hugged his son before pushing the lad out the door, Ara with him. "Go!"   
  
So the two ran, not halting before they reached a safe sanctuary, where they crouched fearfully now.   
  
_The tears spilt down her cheeks. Wiping them off with her grubby fist, she breathed deep until her chest rested still, with no tightening. As long as she did not think of her poor Mama, sprawled on the ground, her head tilted at a strange angle. She felt as if she had died with her mother, as if it was her on the ground with still breath.   
  
"Ara," the boy whispered. "Are you all right?"   
  
"Yes," she whispered back, but the unbearable heat behind her eyes overflowed again and she cried, for the first time she could remember. He patted her black hair until her sniffling abated and her hands finally dropped the small blade.   
  
Staring up at the ceiling, into the deep loft of the abandoned building, he sighed. "We can live here, for now," Cullen said, "Or father would not have directed us to this place. It's warm, at least during this warm season, and safe enough. Little Sister, we shall be all right."   
  
So clambering up to the straw-filled loft, the younglings collapsed and slept heavily from fatigue and stress. And when the morning came, the bright light filled the small cut window and cast its gentle beams over their closed eyes.   
  
"Still all right?" he asked, sun shining into his light brown hair, slightly curly at the ends. His words were like a reassurance, that both of them, though not good companions or even close in age, were together at least, probably the only two left from the entire household. Even at her young age, Ara knew this to be true in her heart, and did not need to be told this fact.   
  
And, peering out the tiny window into the ends of the city, they could see the Priest-Lord, yet in his beaded robe, being led out into the city square by his half-brother Perisen; the scarlet mark of death-to-come was scrawled on his forehead with the traditional paint of the city. Damned to his fate at the block.   
  
Cullen slumped against the wall and cried, golden brown eyes overflowing with the tears he could not keep back. And it was Ara's turn to comfort, as he had consoled her the night before as she wept.   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
if this was in any way confusing, tell me and ill try fix it. review? please? adn the title sucks. well...bye...  
  
  
  



	2. Streetlife (year 346-352 of the reign ...

hiyas...thanks harry's crush  
  
ara is so stubborn, yet so quiet!   
  
~~~~~~~  
  
Neither of them turned their eyes towards the north gate, where the Priest-Lord's blood yet stained the ground, mixed with the shining green beads ripped from his cloak. Since no one dared -or wished- to collect the shimmering glass ornaments, they lay glittering in the sun and sand.   
  
They crept out of their warehouse only to steal food to eat. For the first year they managed to feed themselves with purloined food, grabbed while both storekeepers and red-belted mercenaries were looking in the other direction.   
  
However, Cullen forced Ara to tie up her long black hair underneath a hat. "Little Sister," he told her. "It's safer for you this way." But he wouldn't explain, so she simply shrugged and pinned the locks safely away. He himself wore a cap until his hair grew out longer, with the brim low over his eyes.   
  
But slowly by slowly, the pair snuck out of their solitary sanctuary and began to move through the city. And so that was why both Cullen and Ara were in the marketplace when Perisen declared the new laws of the city.   
  
His booming voice soared over the milling crowd. "There shall be no mishaps in my fair City!" he emphasized. "Those who wish to cause trouble shall be promptly executed, and riots quickly quelled." Following him were scores of mercenaries, each armed with a long sword and fierce faces. As expected, there were no complaints.  
  
"Why doesn't King Baenathen do something?!" Ara whispered. Cullen bit his lip.   
  
"The empire is thousands of miles wide, and spans two continents. And the war in the south, it's still going on strongly. He won't have time for several years, or even perhaps his entire reign..."   
  
Ara didn't know what the southern war was all about, but she nodded. "I see," she said, though she did not really understand, because Cullen looked so limp with frustration and anger that she shut her mouth quickly.   
  
"Let's go back," she told him, tugging at his arm. But for several weeks, Ara, curled up like a small cat in the straw, heard the boy tossing and turning with his own thoughts; her maturity could only brush upon his anguish, though she was very perceptive for her seven years. And she felt his pain, despite her inability to soothe his sorrow.   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
When he was thirteen, Cullen acquired a job as a woodcutter, rising early in the mornings and returning late at night. "It's a start, Little Sister," he admitted, though his workpapers cost an outrageous price, even though he was a beginner in his craft. In fact, it had taken the small handful of coins they had acquired.   
  
"Isn't it dangerous?" she asked, staring at the bloody blisters on his hands that appeared after the first day. "It isn't fitting for a Lord..."  
  
He grimaced. "Which I'm not, anymore." So Ara sighed and improvised a salve, though perhaps not medically competant, it went on silky smooth and soothed the aching in his hands. "Thanks, though."   
  
"Can I come?"   
  
"No!" he exclaimed. "Ara, it isn't a good place for you. It's hard work, and it's much safer for you to stay here, out of danger. The soldiers are everywhere!" Besides, he told himself, it was embarrassing how inept he was at simple skills.   
  
And it was excruciating work. The axe, whose rough, splintery handle bit into his skin, chafed against his palms and against the new blisters. The jarring force of the blade cutting into the tough wood made his shoulders ache in their joints, despite the sword practices he had taken as a child.   
  
"Don't sweat it," another boy had told him, obviously adapted to the work already. "You'll get used of it soon."   
  
"Really."   
  
"Believe me." He smiled, a strange one underneath a slightly crooked nose, broken in a fight or a fall. "I'm Zak. Welcome to the ol' hell pit."   
  
"Cullen," he replied, before inwardly slapping himself up the head. Could he have _not _used his real name?"   
  
"Great to meet you." Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Zak let out a large whiff of air. "What you doing here?"   
  
"Oh, trying to earn a bit of money," he said, hoping he sounded casual.   
  
Zak looked sympathetic, strange in a young boy whose face was already marked by fighting. "Was your father killed this week, too?"   
  
"Too?"   
  
"Didn't you know? Ol' Perisen went through all the homes of those near the castle, looking for two kids, or something. Killed all the men, evicted the women, or at least those who weren't killed by the soldiers. Brutal, man." Zak's knuckes were white as he gripped his axe. "It took my da and my older brother. Me'n my younger brother barely escaped, but we did."   
  
"Gods...I'm so sorry, Zak."   
  
"I know, man, terrible. Your family unscathed?"   
  
Cullen could feel his eyes begin to fill, though he tried to keep them back. "My...father," he managed. "I have to take care of... of my little sister. My mother died many years back." And it was the truth, basically, he told himself. For some reason he didn't wish to lie to this Zak.   
  
"I'm sorry," the other boy said, sincerely remorseful. "That's awful. Someone ought to do something about this Perisen person. It's not as if he were the real Lord, anyhow. Besides, there are those two kids yet." Cullen bit his tongue, but felt his heart sink a bit lower. Zak's eyebrows snapped together suddenly, but he quickly erased the look from his face.   
  
"Let me introduce you to everyone," he told Cullen. "Hey! Guys, this is _Cull_," he said with an emphasis on that nickname, staring strongly Cullen.   
  
Why did he say that? Cullen thought, but dismissed it. Perhaps everyone had a nickname there, maybe it was imperative. Strange, but he'd use it anyway.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~`  
  
Ara squirmed, sitting in the loft sadly. "Boring," she breathed. Three weeks, absolute silence, until Cullen came home. "Got to go somewhere. Or I will burst."   
  
Climbing out of the high loft window and over the market, she snagged a loaf of bread deftly and returned it to the warehouse. It was silly, in fact. She was a bit more adept at pinching items than Cullen, who blushed and became obvious, though she did admire his honesty. Sometimes she wondered what kind of person she was.   
  
The light was already dimming from the sky. "So soon?" she whispered, astonished.   
  
And she saw Cullen walking up the path, tired with his head drooping nearly to the ground. He was so tired at night...she sighed ruefully. "Poor thing," she said to herself. But then she glimpsed the two mercenaries walking behind him, so softly the boy's ears could not hear them.   
  
Grasping a brick, the girl threw herself off the roof and smashed one on the back of the head. He gasped and blacked out, collapsing underneath her. The other man turned around and saw his partner on the ground, giving Cullen the chance to turn and throw a sharp kick in his back. As he fell over his friend's body, Ara gave him a wallop with her brick.   
  
"You should be more careful," she told the older boy, surprised to be scolding someone five years older than herself. She pushed with all her might, and rolled the two unconscious soldiers into a ditch.   
  
He smiled wryly, goldenbrown eyes glinting in the dark. "I think so, too. Thanks, Little Sister." As they walked back into the warehouse, he stared down at her and said, "Oh! Before I forget...the story is that our father was killed during the massacre by the village, and our mother was dead many years ago. And you're my sister."   
  
"Sure..." she said, mind elsewhere. "But Cullen, or should I say, Big Brother," she teased, "Can you teach me that kick? What was that? Where did you learn that?"   
  
"Too many questions!" He held out his hands in supplication, but she continued to stare at him. "Oh, fine. Zak, my friend, taught me some hand-to-hand, so I wouldn't die the minute I stepped into the streets."   
  
"Can you teach me?"   
  
He sighed, but like any intelligent boy recognized the advantages of a girl learning protection skills before the threat was evident. "Fine." And so she learned the finer arts of fighting and tumbling, which eventually evolved into sharpened staffs, until the final day where she produced two sticks and asked him to teach her how to cross swords.   
  
Cullen glared at the eight year old, who stood quietly and undemandingly in front of him. "Please?" she asked. "It's a hobby...my destiny," she joked, remembering what her mother had told her a year ago. The warrior maiden, the Shadow Warrior. Who was she kidding? As if that would come true...but still, she could hope a bit. "Please, Cullen? Pleasepleaseplease."   
  
"All right, then." He sighed again. He would never be able to admit to himself what a comfort she was, teaching her all kinds of strange things that no girl he had ever met before would attempt. Something to keep him going, at least for now, until survival instinct kicked in. When he wanted to roll somewhere and simply die, he still couldn't leave her alone in the world, and so he would drag himself up and work. A small, paltry blessing, but yet a fortune in its own light.   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
Ara enjoyed these lessons, spending the pent up energy that kept her anxious during her long vigils at the window. And also, it gave her a strange bit of joy to see tension lines relax in Cullen's face, though the small spark of vengence still burned deeply in his eyes.   
  
"It's odd," she told herself while she waited by the window, "that while he has a temper and an immoderate fury, and I am quiet and small and can fit in a corner, that we both seem to harbor some residual anger from 'that day.' "   
  
"But we remember," she said thoughtfully, remembering the Priest-Lord, "And that is exactly what matters."   
  
~~~~~~~~~`  
  
The second winter was colder than the first, and burrowing together was the only way to stay alive. Poking at the fire, filled with bits of furniture and wood found on the streets or the garbage, provided a little warmth, but the hay and single blanket conserved the most heat.   
  
Ara ventured out during this time, after bundling Cullen up in multiple layers to his job splitting wood. The walks not only made her feel warmer, but she was able to save their precious firewood by not burning it all day.   
  
It was then, on one of her forays, that she trotted past an inn.   
  
Walking faster, for sometimes drunk men stumbled out of the door with disregard for any small persons in front of their feet, shouts erupted from the doors. "Get out! Thief, no good boy!" And a small, dirty scamp darted out through the doors, throwing his mop at the window.   
  
"Lady, you're a cow!" he shouted before dashing through the chilly trees.   
  
Ara stood there, confused. Running up to the boy, she grabbed his collar, thanking her breeches for their flexibility. "What happened?"   
  
"She fired me," the street rat grumbled. "Washed floors and such, not much of a pay but fun to bother them guests."   
  
Releasing him with a grin, Ara ran back to the building. Shaking snow off her cheap cloak, she entered the building. "Excuse me?" she asked the plump woman serving food onto plates. "Would there perhaps be a job opening for a small...boy?"   
  
The lady looked up, a smile brightening her round face. "Why, there would be!" she exclaimed. "I suppose you saw that rascal running away from me. Can you scrub? And wash dishes?"   
  
Ara nodded, remembering the Priest-Lord's estate. "Yes, mum."   
  
"Then you're hired. Be here from after breakfast, til' around four o'clock. I'm Isa."   
  
"I'm Aral."   
  
The woman smiled and looked the child over, patting her on the shoulder. "I know ye'r not a boy, child. But the job is still yours. After all, we women can do the job just fine, can we not?" She winked. "What's your real name?"   
  
"Ara."   
  
The lady smiled. "Well, for now I shall call you Aral, then."   
  
Tossing a broom to Ara, she called over her elbow, "Make sure to clean under the tables, too!"   
  
And so every day, hours before Cullen returned home, Ara trotted happily down the walk with a loaf of bread and a silver penny from the kind woman. With her wages and leftover food from Isa's generous pot, she was able to provide a hot meal for the tired fourteen year old. Besides, her money went into a hidden pouch underneath the straw of the loft, after the small amount for a child's simple workpaper was paid, still overly priced but manageable. It was a start, and the soft leather bag slowly filled with small silver or copper coins.   
  
As they burrowed under the hay that night, the fire dimmed to warming coals, Cullen spread the blanket over the two of them. "Ara, be careful," he warned.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because!" His eyes flashed slighty in the dark. "Be especially careful when you steal. There's soldiers everywhere. I don't want you to leave other than for food. Hear me? And when we have enough money, no more stealing."   
  
Protective, Ara told herself. "Only after we have enough money. But...you leave the loft."   
  
"But..." he began, but she poked him in the arm and rolled over. He muttered, but settled into the hay next to her. Curling up like a small cat, Ara sighed as the softly scratchy hay adjusted to her body.   
  
"Go to sleep, Cullen." Keeping her breathing slow and steady, she waited for him to fall asleep before she relaxed. Someday later, she would tell him about the job. But only when she was ready for his anger.   
  
And so life went on, despite all hardships, terrors, and improbability.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Girl (year 353-355 of the reign of Kin...

thank you, you few reviewers. you make my day. its gonna be romance soon, i guess, if not now. i just go where the story takes me...heh. this is kinda long.   
  
by the way, i've revised my chapters one and two -twice- so some details may be different. so if you have time, i'd scan them over before reading this chapter...all shiny and new...  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Ara was thirteen, she shed her hat and breeches for the first time and donned a skirt. "Ara," Cullen had begun tentatively, "Perhaps you should be a girl now."   
  
"Why?"   
  
He blushed. "Because, you can tell already...you know. If you dress like a boy, people will know you're hiding something. And hiding something makes you guilty, at least in the minds of this city. And Perisen." He averted his eyes, but Ara knew there was that bitter fire sparking his goldenbrown eyes though she could not see his face.   
  
She sighed, remembering the cumbersome weight of her mother's skirts, and feeling the flexible freedom of the breeches, but nodded. "Fine."   
  
And so she returned the next day dragging a bolt of cloth taller than herself, plus a thick, heavy wool cloth, and based on childhood memories managed to make herself a dress. It took most of her free afternoons for a couple of weeks, but when she was finished Ara was pleased with her accomplishment. The deep green muslin, along with the thicker wool, swirled around her ankles smoothly, and the fitted bodice showed her growing figure.   
  
"Mama would have been proud," Ara said. "I look...just like her. Strange." Ara hadn't thought of her in years, and the memories swamped her mind; it hadn't occured to her before that the childless Perisen, her birth father, was a tyrant. Aralien, not Ara. What would Cullen say? Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of his angry shout, hatred sparking in his beautiful brown eyes. It could never be told, she argued with herself. She could never bear him hating her.   
  
Cullen blinked, wondering for a moment if her mother could possibly be as pretty as the girl in front of him. He made a face. After all, what was he thinking? It was only Ara, the same girl who he had seen every day for six years.   
  
"And now I can make you some more clothes, too. Cullen, you look like a walking pile of rags," she said gleefully, covering up her tears with exagerrated cheer.   
  
"Do not," he said, but looked pleased to have new clothes. Ara wondered how the young Lord felt to be a simple commoner, but bit her tongue and never asked her question. "By the way, how did you learn all this?"   
  
She grinned slightly. "I didn't. But then again, I was also a servant. You were lucky, lord-boy, because I knew how to make a proper soup, and didn't have strange experimentations. It could have been watery broth for seven months, you know." He laughed, teasingly.   
  
Measuring and remeasuring, as she had done with her dress, the boy became quickly tired of the whole affair. "Do you have to keep trying it on and off and on..." he complained, good naturedly.   
  
"Well," she had replied, "If you wouldn't grow so tall-" and with that she brought him lower with a small tug at his elbow. Well, she told herself, he had grown. Even his shoulders seemed broader under her fingers, more solid. Yet still, in the morning light, his hair was the same light brown as it was when he was a boy, the eyes still a golden brown, the pure line of his profile as noble as before. She shook her head sharply, and the moment was gone.   
  
"I suppose I have to tell the inn that I'm female, now," she sighed, not quite thinking.  
  
"What?"   
  
Her mouth had betrayed her. "Oh, nothing."   
  
Cullen's eyes snapped at her. "You leave here to work?" Grasping her shoulders, he shook her angrily.   
  
"You do, too!"   
  
"But-" he began, before she reached out a booted foot and flipped him with the easy grace that she learned to use. With a yell and a thump, he didn't have a chance to dodge and landed heavily on his back. "That's not nice, Ara," he said sheepishly, staring up at her from the hay. "I taught you that."   
  
"And I use it. But the inn gives me money for cleaning, and that's that. Did you really expect me to sit in this dusty place all my life?"   
  
He shrugged, voice rueful. "I suppose...besides, it's not like I can stop you. I didn't know you got that good at fighting."   
  
Beginning to feel a laugh bubbling out of her throat, Ara gave him a hand up. "Perhaps Ladies sit in their homes all day, but not us women of the city. We _do _things." But pulling off her hat and letting her hair tumble out, she frowned. "Drats. I haven't combed this properly for months." The tangled mass, though clean, was twisted so thoroughly that it would take both of them hours to make it sleek and straight.   
  
"I guess I would have outgrown my hat soon enough," she said blithely after the painful struggle was over. "It got quite long while I wasn't watching it." The strands, reaching down past her knees, were quickly pinned up out of her way and forgotton.   
  
Dropping her old clothes in a crate, she put on the dress (stuffy, she thought) and followed Cullen, the first time she had done so openly. But protectively (as if she couldn't take care of herself, Ara thought) he waited for her during the night times to get her back to the abandoned warehouse.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Isa gasped audibly as Ara walked through the doors. "Lass, is that you?"   
  
Ara grinned. "Hush, Isa. It's still me."   
  
The woman left the counter to stare critically at the girl. "No, it's different. You look like a _Lady, _Ara. I can call you that now, can't I? Not an Aral anymore. Pretty, and with such hair! I had never known." Isa blushed. "And now I'm blathering on like a fool."   
  
"Don't be silly, Isa." Ara stooped to pick up the broom, but the woman stopped her.   
  
"Girl, with you looking like that, customers will complain of me forcing the like of you of doing hard work. I'll hire a new boy-" Ara shook her head- "and you can help me serve tables and cook. Would you like that?"   
  
Ara made a disparaging noise, but nodded. "I suppose. As long as I don't have to sew..." Isa just laughed. "Well, I've been doing it without halt for weeks and weeks..." Her aggrieved voice trailed off dramatically.   
  
A strong rap sounded at the door. Cullen's slightly curly head stuck itself in and he smiled. "Hurry up, Ara."   
  
"All right."   
  
Though her new work papers, under her female name Ara, cost even more that last time, she was still considered a new worker though Aral had been laboring for several years. "Well, now I'm a legal worker, with the correct papers," she told Cullen, who snorted.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It took about a year after her gender change when the innkeeper first mentioned Cullen. "Is that your young man?" the woman asked, peering out the window at the waiting figure. "He's handsome."   
  
"Oh, no," Ara exclaimed. "That's just Cullen."   
  
"Ah," Isa winked at the girl. "Just Cullen."   
  
"Wait!" Ara cried. "You don't understand, he's-" He's just...just what? she thought desperately. Not my brother, at least.   
  
"Never mind, child, you don't have to tell me." And no matter how Ara protested, the woman hummed sweetly and ignored her.   
  
So Ara was in a bad mood by the time she left the inn, wringing her apron in both hands as she ran out the door to the waiting young man. "Sorry, I'm late," she mumbled.   
  
"What's wrong?" he asked instantly.   
  
"Oh, Isa being strange," Ara replied, looking up the foot or so to his face, but strangely (at least he thought) she looked away quickly. And they walked along in silence.   
  
"Zak and his brother are coming for a visit tonight, after supper," Cullen began. "They're friends of mine from work, at least Zak is. I've only met Joul once or twice, he's a year older than you, and Zak is a year older than me."   
  
"That's good," she said in reply. "It's a nice thing to know people." But she was still deep in thought; however, they mostly were about his soft, slightly curly brown hair, and they way he ran his fingers through the waves when he was thinking. Only when the evening came and a jolly pound on the warehouse door shook her out of her stupor did she smile at the perplexed Cullen.   
  
Zak was an interesting sort, she thought. With his merry eyes and broken nose, he seemed at home even in their hideaway loft. "Ara!" he had said joyfully, as if they were long-lost friends. "Wonderful to meet you!" Even to Cullen, whom he had seen just a scant few hours before, he gave a hearty welcome and slap on the back.   
  
Joul was a quiet boy, following his brother clumsily. Ara noticed, vaguely, that he tripped more while she was watching, and fell over himself to get things for her. "It's just a bit of wood," she said, incredulous. "No need to rush- I can get it myself." But Joul would shake his head and run off to gather logs from their pile with wide eyes.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
That visit began a series of other visits, and the two brothers added extra cheer into the small loft. Dashing in, often with straw flying in all directions, Zak made everything he did seem like it was the most fun he had ever had in his life.   
  
"C'mon!" he yelled. "Harder!"   
  
Cullen came in as Ara slowly went through the motions of a twist-kick, then preformed the stunt flawlessly. Zak whistled in admiration, and Joul watched with awe-widened eyes from the side of the room.   
  
"You learned that a bit too quick, girl," Cullen said. "Your enemies are quaking in their booties!" She laughed, trying it again.   
  
"It's good fun," she told the astonished Cullen. "Why so shocked? Did you think I had finally forgotten everything you taught me? Because I stopped bothering you?"   
  
He laughed. "Actually, I was hoping."   
  
Zak grinned. "She's a better student than you were, friend." To Cullen's mock-astonished glance, he told her playfully, "Cullen fights like a girl."   
  
One of Ara's dark brows rose in question. "And is that an insult?"   
  
"You know what I meant... You're not _any _girl; for one, you could give any guard a broken skull and he'd never know what hit him." And that was a compliment, in Zak's strange way, because he hated the battle-honed mercenaries the most, and that she would have the skill to kill one unawares would be a difficult task.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Zak laughed when he saw his brother's antics, on their later visits to the loft. "Look at that lad," the twenty-one-year-old had said, "Falling head over heels in love. Silly boy."   
  
Cullen whirled around, only to catch sight of Joul trying to give Ara a flower, hand-picked from somewhere; where he found it in the dead of a freezing winter Zak would never know. She seemed baffled, her emerald eyes confused, probably because she had never been courted or even treated like a girl until two years before.   
  
"Surprised you haven't found her a husband yet, Cul," Zak said. "She's overdue for one, and it shouldn't be too hard, seeing her. Seems like all the girls are married off by fourteen, most by thirteen. And she's fifteen. Cullen, you're slacking off on your brotherly duties."   
  
"Oh," Cullen had said, mind suddenly focused. "Why must I?"   
  
"So she can have a family." Had Cullen been his usual self, he would have heard the unusual patient strain in Zak's jovial voice. "Don't you think she could marry?" And he spun his friend around. "Look at that hair, her face, and, well, the rest of her."   
  
"Oh, shove it." But against his wishes, he found his eyes resting on her green eyes and dark lashes, but more importantly on that sparkle in them that made his heart wrench in his chest. He guiltily closed his eyes for a moment before turning back. "You know where, Zak."   
  
"Sorry, man. I just had to see."   
  
"See what," he replied irritably.   
  
Zak smiled his crooked grin. "Well, now I'm absolutely sure you're not her brother. And I think I know who you two are, by the way, but I promise I won't even tell my brother."   
  
"What?" Cullen yelped.   
  
His friend leaned a bit closer. "Oh, come on, I just saw how you looked at her, and besides, you're my best friend and it can't be a coincidence...can it? Only aristocrats have names that end with "n" sounds, as yours does, Cullen. That's why I tell everyone your name is Cull. Besides, two kids, left on their own after running away, raising themselves...a girl and a boy...?"   
  
"Thats a small theory to run on, Zak."   
  
He grinned a bit wider. "But, Cullen ol' buddy, do I see you disagreeing?"   
  
"Gods," Cullen sighed. "I'm terrible at lying. So you know. Don't tell, or we die. That's that."  
  
"Gods, Cull, how can you be so matter-of-fact?" The street-hardened boy sounded horrified to hear his paranoid friend say such a phrase.   
  
He grimaced. "Because we have to live that way, or we go insane."   
  
Zak leaned closer, voice quieter. "Is Ara his daughter? Ol' Perisen?"   
  
Cullen shook his head. "I don't think so, Zak. She's a serving woman's daughter, and besides, her name is Ara, with no "n" sound. Surely her mother would have named her such, if she had been even the offspring of a snake like Perisen."   
  
"Are you sure?" his friend asked softly.   
  
"Pretty sure; though in truth, I don't believe it would make a difference to me..."   
  
Zak smiled. "I'm glad, you know. I could be wrong. But as long as you love her for who she is, then..." he grinned, "maybe she won't beat you up for coming on to her. Maybe."  
  
"No guarentees, are there, friend?" Cullen groaned, though Zak only laughed merrily. "But now another problem. What do I do about...Ara?"   
  
~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Walking home was a struggle in the muddy roads, filled with the season's rain. Each step was a halting slosh, boots disappearing inches into the thick sludge. It was on these days that Cullen was stuck into extra work, as Perisen again exhausted his treasury with new additions to the palace. The lumber needed was essential to his extravagance, though the boy managed to never enter the estate premises.   
  
She wondered what Cullen would say, when she entered, bearing a basket fresh bread and jams, carefully protected by a kerchief. It would be nice with her latest pot of stew.   
  
Ara was whistling to herself, swinging her long braid behind her merrily, when she was grabbed from behind, a large arm encircling her arms. The basket itself dropped to the cobblestones, luckily not into the mud.   
  
"What have we got here?" a voice grated into her ear. "A pretty one, ain't she, Poder?"   
  
His friend lumbered over, his leer sickening. "Very. What were you doing, lass," he said, rough hand under her chin, "walking by yourself?"   
  
"A pretty girl shouldn't be walking by herself," his friend laughed, the sound sending chills up the back of her neck. "It's not safe, is it, Poder?"   
  
"She needs protection," he commented, eyes wandering. Ara's face flushed with anger, but she didn't wish to attack until his friend was standing more to the left, not directly in front of her. "We can take care of her, can't we, Barl? Don't worry, girl," he told her. "Uncle Barl and Uncle Poder will take care of you." His eyes betrayed the family titles as they brushed lower and lower from her face.   
  
A red haze drifted over her eyes. "Beating you up," she murmured, before slamming her foot into her captor's groin and slamming his friend into his bent-over body, "will be so much fun."  
  
He gasped, falling into the mud as she slammed her fist into his face. The sickening feel of his nose cartilage cracking sent a shiver through her wrist, but regardless she hefted her skirts up and kicked the other man in the lower back repeatedly until his entire upper body was stuck in mud. A shout came from the distance, but she continued to pound the man alternately in the back and in the face until they capitulated. As soon as they were able to they ran, armor clanking one stumbled and the other tried to staunch the flow of blood from his nose.   
  
"Ara!" She saw Cullen sprinting down the road towards her. The dab of blood on her right fist shook, until she realised it was her hand trembling and not the smear of red. Wiping it on the napkin, she turned around just in time to be nearly tackled by Cullen. "Are you all right, Ara?" he nearly shouted into her face, arms wonderfully tight around her waist. She felt as if she might fall if he released her, but he didn't.   
  
Burying her face in his shirt, she mumbled something. "What, Ara?" he said in a noticeably gentler tone.   
  
"I'm all right." Laughing a little, she grabbed the basket. "Let's get inside the loft before they come back." Running quickly into the building, they slammed the door and bolted it hastily. As soon as the door was shut securely, Ara sagged against the wall. "That was strange," she told him.  
  
He let out a shuddering breath.   
  
Ara sighed, another little laugh that was more nervous than mirthful. "And I had a surprise for you and all," she said regretfully, holding out the basket of bread and jam. He stared down at her surprised, before he began to laugh out loud, hugging her tightly. She squeezed right back, scared out of her wits but too proud to admit it.   
  
But he could tell, because her heart was pounding so loud and quick. Cullen could even feel it through his tunic, the frightened flutter that slowly quieted. And then he felt how close she was pressed to him, her arms tight around his chest and his around her waist, and he blushed. But Ara couldn't see the sudden flush, because her eyes were closed with her forehead against his tunic, nerves trembling dreadfully.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
  



	4. Seeds of Revolution (year 355 of the rei...

kinipeli- the warrior thing is coming...its a many chaptered idea, and revolution is coming too...just as a forewarning.   
  
sorry the chapter was so long in the making and so short.   
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
The incident with the two soldiers left Ara more thoughtful and careful. It also opened her eyes to the situation at hand, or so she thought. "Before," she muttered to Isa, "All I had thought about was making a hot meal each night for Cullen, and staying out of the way of the guards. I didn't know how...terrible it truly was."   
  
The woman shook her head sympathetically. "It is, dear," she told Ara. "They've been pillaging for these past years now, goods, valuables, women... And with taxes rising steadily..."  
  
Ara shook her head, black braid bobbing near the floor. "That's terrible, Isa. Someone should do something..."   
  
The woman leaned closer as Cullen walked through the door. "There are some," she whispered, "who talk of revolution, overthrowing he who has killed our men and taxed our work."   
  
"What?" the young man asked, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.   
  
"All this city needs," Isa said firmly, "is a strong and noble leader. Perisen's mercenaries are dispersing, as his treasury runs lower and lower..."   
  
"Do you think," Ara breathed, "it could actually be done?"   
  
Cullen's eyes sparked in the candlelight. "I think it could. Let me speak to Zak, because he knows everyone in the town." Fingers clenching into fists, he pounded the table. "Gods, it will be done."   
  
Isa stared. "You would do it?" she said, both worried and hopeful. "If it fails, you would surely die..." Her voice betrayed the desperation, despite the consequences.   
  
The determination, strong in his gold brown eyes, frightened Ara more than she could ever admit. He would die in the struggle, if he had to, she thought. "It's dangerous," she warned.   
  
Turning to the girl, he snapped, "You should be just as furious! Willing to charge up to the palace, to that tyrant-"   
  
"I am," she retorted, green eyes angry, "Yet I do it in a way that does not throw my life on Perisen's sword!" His features softened, and he gripped her hand gently, but she pulled it away furiously. "I'm afraid for you. And for what we salvaged of life. We could lose it all."   
  
"Wouldn't it be worth it?" His eyes searched hers.   
  
"Well, yes, perhaps," she admitted.   
  
"Then," he told her, eyes glowing, "will we do it? Ara, will you help me?" Her heart ached, for she knew she would do anything for him, though her fingers itched for the overthrow of the tyrant as much as his. She nodded, and was rewarded with his radient grin.  
  
Isa clapped her hands. "We can meet here," she insisted. "Tell Zak."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
A sevenday later, a surprising amount of people had gathered in the inn's small dining room. "If soldiers come in," Isa called quietly, "It's soup day, when everyone comes to get a bowl of 'quality' stew on a cold day."   
  
A man yelled back, "Well, we'd come anyway, fer Isa's soup is the best in ther county!" She flushed red with pleasure but continued to serve the steaming broth into wooden bowls.   
  
Cullen stepped forward. "Does anyone have a plan, or ideas on how we can overthrow this tyrant?" There was some shaking heads, and the room waxed silent. Zak muttered. "No one?"   
  
Ara stood up. "We have to do something! Otherwise, we will be subjected to Perisen forever..."   
  
Some of the people roused themselves at that, and nodded vigorously. "Aye, that's for sure. Something must be done." And soldiers entered for a bowl of hot soup that minute, and all talks of revolution was ended for the day.   
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
That afternoon, stoking the fire, Ara crouched over the warming flames. "It's freezing," she said, sitting on the straw away from the sparks as she unbraided her long hair. "Why does it have to be so cold during winter?" She curled up like a cat on the straw, the same as she had during the eight years they had lived in the loft.   
  
Cullen paused behind her, blankets in hand. "Isn't it? Awful, that is," he said quickly, feeling his heartbeat increase dramatically. Stooping behind her, he wrapped the soft woolen cloth around her shoulders, and without thinking he bent his head and kissed her cheek. From his position, he could see her eyes widen, and he felt his cheek flush with heat as he realised his mistake.   
  
"I..." he stuttered, before dashing out the loft and into the deep shadows of the large warehouse.   
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
